Seeing Red (4 page)

The glass bottles clinked at the bin bottom, and she put a hand over her rapidly beating heart, willing it to slow. Broken hearts weren’t supposed to beat that fast. The racing had to be a death portent of some sort, given her luck.

“No. I’m just skittish. I guess it’s the ingrained parenting thing. If I hear a noise, I think it’s Toby getting into something, even if my eyes are telling me otherwise.” Lame excuse, and she knew it.

Seth studied her as he straightened up, his expression a blank. “Oh.”

“So…” She freed her hair from her collar and shifted her weight to her right foot. “Bedroom, or if you’re feeling more adventurous, there’s the sofa…” Eyeing the wicker thing, bedecked by coral floral-print cushions, she immediately regretted the suggestion. It’d struggle to hold their combined weights, but to add exertion to it? They’d end up with a whopping bill from the resort. The romp would make for a memorable trip, but the fallout would be hell on her checking account. And there was Toby’s preschool tuition to pay and…did Spike pay off the mortgage on the Raleigh condo? Maybe she should call her lawyer as soon her plane touched down at RDU. The HOA fees were going to be burdensome enough without adding that huge monthly payment to her list of expenses. She might even have to sell the thing, though she’d hate to do it. It was the only home Toby had ever known.

“Bedroom is fine,” he said, rousing her from her reverie.

“Right.” She swallowed and turned on her heel.

He followed at a respectful distance, stopping a few feet away when she paused to open the master-bedroom door. She shouldered it in, and on the way to the bed, nudged Toby’s beach trunks and flip-flops out of the way with her foot.

He closed the door behind them, closing him in with her, and suddenly the room seemed so much smaller. Earlier, she’d marveled at the spaciousness. The room was even larger than her bedroom at home, and the second room—the one Toby occupied—wasn’t much smaller. The suite was truly a luxury booking, and everyone would have expected that of her: the rock star’s ex-wife.

She moved to the bed and sat on the edge. She gripped the bottom hem of her tank top, and her gaze trained on the shiny wood floor.

His bare feet passed in front of her, and a moment later the glow of a lamp added brightness to the area. He tracked back to the door and shut off the overhead light, leaving the fan going. There was already a chill in the room from the overenthusiastic air conditioning system. The vent pointed straight at the bed, so the fan seemed unnecessary. Wasn’t worth quibbling about, though.

By the time he made it back to the end of the bed, he’d peeled off his shirt.

Meg’s hands stilled, and she clamped her bottom lip between her teeth. She’d known he was big. She’d seen his calves and forearms, but all that was just a hint of what was beneath his clothes.

He wasn’t muscled in the way guys who live and breathed the gym were, but there was an athleticism about his chest and upper arms that hinted at either very hard physical labor, or engagement in frequently rigorous play.

Holy hell, what was she getting herself into?

He stood in front of her, nearly toe-to-toe, and her hands seemed to be operating on their own volition as they pressed against his firm belly, and edged down to his waistband.

His fingers did that lacing through the back of her hair again, and he gave it a tiny yank, tipping her face up to meet his.

“I don’t carry condoms with me,” he whispered. “Hate to toss you in cold water.”

She closed her eyes and puzzled over his words. “You mean, throw ice water on me?”

His lips quirked up on one side and he shrugged. “I get it all mixed up. The English language is so…idiomatic.”

No kidding. She’d studied it, after all.

“I may have one in my toiletry bag. Let me look.”

She hadn’t intended to make him sheathe up at all. She’d had an IUD ever since she’d stopped nursing Toby, but there was the issue of STDs. She couldn’t speak for Seth, but having been married to Spike, maybe getting tested at the next available opportunity wouldn’t be a bad idea.

He pulled his hands free of her hair, and she struggled to put weight on her wobbling legs. Already, his fingers toyed at the fastening of his shorts, and as she strode across the room to the closet, she said a little prayer to whichever god would receive it that there’d be just one rubber in her bag.

She toggled the light switch and dropped to her knees to push the lid of her suitcase open.

There had to be one. There was that convention she went to with Sharon last year. In the swag was a condom affixed to a piece of card stock printed with some punny expression about personal safety. She was pretty sure she’d laughed and put it in her makeup bag.

There was rustling behind her, and she turned to look out the closet door, finding Seth had preemptively dropped his shorts.

Dear Lord, the man had no shame, nor should he have.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her fingers stilling over the case’s zipper. His briefs followed his shorts into the pile on the floor.

His dick didn’t seem real, at least not compared to what she’d personally encountered in the past. The last cock she’d seen of that size, in a text message sent to her by one of Spike’s band roadies—the little freak—had been very obviously Photoshopped. Seth had something to brag about.

She hurried her search of the case.

Ah, there it was. She grabbed the condom and switched the light off in the closet, breath hitching as she returned to the bed end where he sat. She extended the packet toward him and he took it.

His hands weren’t shaking like hers.

She didn’t understand this nervous Meg. Meg Scott had never been nervous. Not even when she was tumbling on a balance beam during Olympic qualifying events. Meg Coffman hadn’t been particularly nervous, either, until sperm met egg and the universe tossed a monkey wrench into her life. Maybe the nervousness came with being Meg Rozhkov. Odd, that. She didn’t like it, that feeling of having something in her life that wasn’t tied down neatly and easy to compartmentalize. She couldn’t tell what it was about this situation that put her at such unease. Yeah, there was the little voice in the back of her mind that said, “Honey, this is going to hurt,” but that was sort of minor in the scheme of things. Must have been another symptom of Rozhkov Disease.

He studied her a moment, his lips parted as if to say something, but they closed wordlessly and he went to work, carefully tearing open the packet and she turned her back to kick off her sandals.

He pressed his hands to her waist and gently turned her back around.

“What?” she asked, but already he’d pulled her in close and pressed his hot lips into the crook of her neck.

His scent was some heady mix of beer, saltwater, and cologne that made her want to flick out her tongue for a taste, but there was no flesh nearby—just his thick red hair. Taking a page out of his book, she wound her fingers through it and pulled.

When his face turned up to hers with a question written in his features, she whispered, “Let me undress.”

He nodded.

Spike would have said, “Hurry up,” and laid back with his hand on his cock, already pumping and starting the party without her.

Seth, though, merely put his hands on his knees and watched with keen interest as she fisted her hands on her shirt hem.

She was filled with alternating jolts of titillation and embarrassment at the intensity of his gaze—at his interest in her body. She was pleased that someone wanted to see it, but she hadn’t expected the scenario to unfold this way.

Her T-shirt joined his pile of clothing, followed by her shorts. When she looked down at the front clasp of her plain white bra and moved her hand toward it, he said, “Let me.”

Of course she should let him. Seemed smart to ramp up to the inevitable intercourse by letting him touch—fondle—before they climbed onto the sheets and acted as mammals are prone to.

He needed a moment to work the little catch free, but when he did, spilling her breasts onto her ribs, he drew in a breath loud enough for her to hear before pulling her into the V of his open legs. He pressed his face into the gap in her cleavage.

Obviously, the guy didn’t care about false advertising. Sharon said Meg was lucky to still have breasts after having a baby. Sharon had lost hers along with her baby weight. Meg had retained her fullness, but definitely not the perkiness she’d had in her youth.

He searched up her belly and fondled her right breast with one hand, while easing around her waist and hooking into the elastic of her panties with the other.

Her underwear nudged down in inches as his mouth found her nipple.

She drew in a breath and held it, her eyes feeling as though they were bulging, and she was glad he couldn’t see it. His tongue circling around one aching nipple and his hand cupping her ass so reverently seemed far too sensual for a tryst that was supposed to be about scratching an itch.

But what was she going to do? Tell him to stop when it felt so good, just so he wouldn’t get the wrong ideas about this? About them?

No. Whatever emotional mess they sparked, she’d clean it up in the morning.

She stepped out of her panties and nudged them away from their feet, and when her legs parted, he slid his hand to her lips, spreading her, before delving one large finger between her folds.

The first breach by a near stranger. The degree of exposure she felt seemed to equate right along the same levels as sex outdoors or in a crowded club.

Laid bare, her skin prickled—seemed to feel disconnected from all the warm things it held inside—and when he pushed a second finger into her, stretching her, her toes curled against the wood floor. Her feet responded to the tightening sensation in her sex by pushing up onto her toes, away from him, although her fingers had grabbed his shoulders for purchase.

“You’ll let me know if I’m hurting you?” he asked, and it barely registered to her, until he asked a second time.

“Megan?” His hand at her sex stilled, and the thumb that had been making deliriously gentle circles around her clit paused, pressing the little button in.

A whimper formed at the back of Meg’s throat and she forced her feet flat to the floor. She moaned when she landed on his knuckles. “Yes. Yes, I’ll tell you. Can we please just…” With her bottom lip clamped between her teeth, she wrapped the fingers of both of her hands around his wrist and pulled his slick fingers free of her.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, just…” She put her hands on his shoulders, tentatively, and gave him a little nudge backward.

Statue that he was, he didn’t move.

Use your words, Meg
. Wasn’t that her frequent admonishment to Toby when he wanted something? Candor was definitely called for in the situation at hand.

She swallowed and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Can you lie on your back?”

When she pulled her hands away, he had both eyebrows cocked up.

“Please.” What she wanted to add was, “Let’s skip the foreplay,” but that would have been excessive and maybe a little mean. She knew her reputation, but for once in her life, maybe she should be at least pretend to be pleasant, especially given this man was discreetly doing her a huge favor few people would have. Sure, there were probably a lot of men willing to marry her and fuck her, but to be quiet about it?

He eased back to the center of the bed so his head met the pillow, and she climbed onto the bed and straddled him in short order.

Once more, she grabbed his wrist, this time relocating his hand so it was behind his head, then repeated the action with the other one.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” His voice didn’t exactly sound hurt, but there was a tinge of annoyance there. She couldn’t blame him, but…

“I’m sorry, I just need some control.” She clamped her lips before, “Don’t take it personally,” seeped out.

If they were only going to do this once, she wanted an orgasm out of it, and experience had taught her that would only happen in controlled circumstances. Her on top, setting the pace.

“Just lay there and look pretty.”

That earned her a grin.

She squeezed her knees against his thighs, pushing his legs flush to relieve the ache in her hips, and eased back. She settled down onto his fat, hard cock with a murmured, “Glory alleluia.”

Thankfully, he didn’t move, didn’t thrust into her while her body stretched to accommodate his girth. He just watched her with parted lips, his eyes slightly hooded.

With her palms pressed against his chest, she angled her torso flat against his and tucked her feet beneath his calves. Now she wedged her arms beneath his torso, like a hug, and laid her cheek against one pec. Eyes closed, she whispered while clenching her muscles around his erection, “Just hold very still until I find it.”

“Find what?”

She pressed down onto his shaft and then slipped him out almost all the way before taking him back into her nearly to her end. There she paused, a gasp escaping her lips.

“That, Seth. Find that.”

This wasn’t going to take long. Pity.

She pushed up to her elbows, careful to not lose the ground she made, and rode him gently—small movements instead of the wild, manic ones she’d grown to expect.